Damaged Dining Halls and Ale Adventures
by Constant Distraction
Summary: Aragorn and Arwen discuss some mischief they got into with Elladan and Elrohir in their younger days.
1. Pyromaniac Elf

Disclaimer: Lord of the rings is not mine. It belongs to Tolkien.

Summary: Aragorn and Arwen discuss some mischief they got into with the twins.

A/N: This is a WARNING. I'm not sure if this is a good fic or not, my editor didn't think so but my other friends did. I'm going to go with their opinions. This is Arwen's POV, and in the first chapter, her memory is separated from the telling by lines.

I want to thank those of you who read 'Forbidden.' It was my first attempt at fluff and probably my last. You see, I am a violent person at heart, and I must keep up that image. Although I am having trouble being violent lately… why do I hate Eowyn again? AUGH! WHERE DID MY VIOLENT STREAK GO?

This fic is dedicated to Cerridwen-Evereven, who reviews most of my stories and puts up with my Eowyn-hating. I only wish I could write a better fic for her. She writes really good fics, too. Go read them! Wait- read this and then go read them.

* * *

"Should I wear my crown, do you think?" Aragorn asks.

"Of course. And your armor, too," I answer patiently.

I sit in front of the fire in our chamber, listening to my husband's worries about posing for a portrait. It is customary in Gondor to have a portrait of each king done soon after his coronation.

"Should I smile?" Aragorn inquires, giving an awkward grin that resembles a snarl.

"Not like that!" I laugh. The fire snaps loudly and I toss a log onto it, watching the way it devours the wood. It reminds me of an event long past, and I giggle quietly.

"A serious expression, then," Aragorn works his face into a stern frown, then turns for my approval. "Is this good?" He catches me giggling. "I can see it's not," he sighs.

"No-no, it's fine! I was just thinking of something that happened a long time ago."

"What was it?" Aragorn asks, sitting down beside me.

"Just some trouble I got into," I say, my laughing under control.

Aragorn's eyes sparkle. "What trouble? An innocent Elf like you?"

"My brothers helped," I admit.

"Ah, I see. I got into a lot of trouble with them too."

"You did?" I ask. "What sort of-"

Aragorn cuts me off with a grin. "You tell me what sort of trouble you got into, and I'll tell you of mine."

Reluctantly I agree.

"I was a young Elf, only about ten by mortal's terms. Elladan and Elrohir were older, but still immature. We loved war games," I begin, soon reliving the memory.

It is early evening, just after supper, the sky just beginning to darken. Elladan, Elrohir, and I are outside in the clearing behind the dining hall, bows in hands.

"Let's play the Last Alliance of Elves and Men," suggests Elrohir. "I'll be an Elf."

"I don't want to be a Man," complains Elladan.

"I am not being an Orc this time," I cry out defensively.

"But you look like one, Arwen-" Elladan teases, grinning.

"I do not!" I say hotly. I've never seen an Orc, only caught a glimpse of the sketches in Ada's library, but I know looking like an Orc is a bad thing.

"Do so!"

"Do not! And I won't be one!"

"All right! We can all be Elves," Elrohir reasons, settling the argument. "But I have a new idea."

Through the growing darkness, I see a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Elrohir, it's too dark to shoot arrows," I murmur.

"Not if we use flaming arrows," he says slyly.

"Brilliant!" cries Elladan.

I consider his plan thoughtfully. Ada had never expressly forbidden us from playing with flaming arrows, but I think he would frown upon it. But it sounds like fun.

I point to our usual targets, a few trees about twenty yards away. "Those will catch fire," I say.

Elladan's face falls, but Elrohir smiles. "We can shoot into the pond."

"No, we'll never get them back that way," I tell him. "Wait a moment, I've got an idea."

I run into the kitchen, smiling innocently at the cooks. When they look away, I snatch two huge cooking pots out of the cupboard and haul them outside to my brothers.

"We can fill these with water and shoot into them," I suggest.

"That'll work," Elrohir says appreciatively. He and Elladan race to the stream, lugging the pots behind them. When they return, Elladan has thought of another problem.

"If we want to be like real warriors, we have to shoot upwards so the arrows will fly farther," he says sadly. "But we don't have enough room for that."

I look around the clearing, finding no solution until my gaze falls son the dining hall. "We can put the pots on the roof," I say determinedly.

"We'll just have to aim well so the arrows won't burn the roof," Elrohir agrees.

Elladan scales the house wall. Standing tall on Elrohir's shoulders, I hand him the heavy pots, and he sets them a few feet apart on the roof. He climbs carefully down as I run back to the house for the most important part of our game.

I slide a torch out of its holder on the wall and race back to the clearing, gathering large, dry sticks in my arms as I return. My brothers are at the far side of the clearing, opposite the dining hall. I dump the sticks on the ground in front of them and, with the torch, set the sticks afire.

The small blaze cackles quietly. We nock our arrows and dip the heads in the fire until they catch the flame, then draw the bowstrings quickly and shoot into the night sky. I grin as I watch the flaming arrows, like bright orange birds flying across the darkness. When they reach the pots on the roof, all three are extinguished simultaneously, sending up thin tendrils of smoke.

Elladan and Elrohir laugh gleefully. We nock a new set of arrows and set them on fire, then draw our bows. "Fire!" Elrohir shouts, elected captain in a vote that neither Elladan nor I remember taking part in. Another volley of arrows pierces the sky and lands in the water-filled pots. Three more plumes of smoke rise.

We shoot volley after volley until each of us has a single arrow left. "We can retrieve them after this last set," Elrohir decides.

The arrows sail to the roof. Elladan and Elrohir's land in the pots, but I don't see where mine lands.

Elladan places a stick on the diminishing fire. "I'm not going up on the roof this time," he says, pointing to a rip in his sleeve.

"Neither am I!" Elrohir says immediately. "I'm the captain. Arwen, you're expendable."

I do not argue. I like going on the roof. We stride across the clearing and I clamber up the dining room wall. At the top I heave myself up onto the roof, then wish I hadn't.

A dirty word escapes my lips as I see what my stray arrow has done. The pots are full of well-aimed arrows. Just behind them, a large fire dances. The fire is growing, feeding on the wooden structure of the dining hall. In the center of the fire, I see a single arrow, engraved with the ruin 'A'. My arrow.

My brothers are clueless. I can hear them bickering below.

"Did she just curse?"

"I think she did!"

"Arwen! Come down here and we'll wash your foul mouth!"

"Yes! Hurry down!"

"What's all that smoke?"

I turn quickly from the blaze, slamming into one of the cooking pots and sending it over the edge of the roof. "Watch out!" I scream to my brothers. I look over to see that the pot has landed a few feet away from them. However, both Elladan and Elrohir are soaked. And angry.

"ARWEN!" They roar.

"There's a fire up here!" I call down frantically.

"What!" Elladan exclaims.

"How big is it?" Elrohir asks.

I turn to the fire again, which has spread quickly. The hem of my skirt is flaming. I shriek and reach for the remaining pot, dumping it over my skirt. The fire on my dress extinguished, I answer Elrohir.

"It spread! My skirt was on fire!"

"Get down from there!"

I am quick to obey. I hang on to the top of the wall until I find a foothold, then scurry down, anxious to escape the hot licks of the flames.

My brothers and I take a long look at the burning dining hall, then at each other. In a split second, our decision is made.

"Run!" Elladan cries, and that's exactly what we do. We race deep into the trees that surround the clearing, never once looking back at the blazing building.

After a few minutes of frantic running, Elrohir stops. "When the fire is out," he says, out of breath, "we'll go back. And we'll say we were playing games near the pond." The pond is far away from the dining hall.

"If Ada asks, we know nothing," Elrohir continues fiercely. "We know nothing. Right?"

Elladan and I nod.

"Let's go to the pond then, and then walk back to the house," Elladan suggests. He begins to march forward. I follow meekly. We go to the pond, then return to the house at the opposite direction from the dining hall. Guiltily I note the huge trails of smoke marking the black sky.

When we reach the main entryway, Elladan peers around the corner. "No one is here," he tells us. "We're in luck!" He and Elrohir start to make their way down the right hall to their rooms. "Goodnight, Arwen!" Elladan calls cheerfully. "And remember-not a word."

Timidly I begin to walk to my room. I slip into the left corridor, knowing I have to walk past the dining hall to get to my room.

As I turn a corner, thick clouds of smoke mar my vision. Blinded and coughing, I stumble through the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. When the wall abruptly ends in a doorway, I fall through it.

The smoke has cleared a bit. I open my eyes to see black ashes and a dirty stone floor, and the open outdoors where walls should be. My heart leaps to my throat as I move my gaze to the center of the ruined dining hall. In the midst of the wreckage, sitting on what used to be a chair, sat my Ada.

"Erm- what happened? I was at the pond," I begin, trailing off as I see what Ada holds in his hands.

A single, charred arrow, mangled almost beyond recognition, managed to survive the fire. At the end of the shaft, on the metal binding, is printed a single letter: 'A'.

None of my brothers' arrows had made it through the fire, but mine had.

Busted.

By the time I finish, Aragorn is laughing so hard his crown has fallen off. "Flaming arrows?" He sputters.

"They weren't even my idea!" I cry indignantly. "But I got all the blame!"

"What was your punishment?" Aragorn asks between chuckles.

"Ada took my bow away for two months, and I had to help as much as I could with rebuilding the dining hall."

Aragorn laughs harder, and I slap him lightly on the arm. "All right! I admit I was stupid."

He nods enthusiastically as his laughter quiets slightly.

"Now I've told you of my mischief," I remind him. "Your turn."

* * *

Well that was long and took forever to type! So now please let me know: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Do you want to read about Aragorn's ale adventure? I accept flames, but flames will inevitably be stolen by Denethor and be used to burn poor Faramir. Let's see if Faramir is still alive by the next chapter. 


	2. What A Man would Do for a Little Ale

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…

No, not the second chapter! That comes later. The answer to the burning question. Did I get flamed? Did Denethor steal those flames and use them to burn Faramir? Is Faramir now dead?

The answer is….

No!

Faramir: Thank you for not flaming.

Denethor: I hate you all. returns to his miserable life

There you have it!

Well I suppose I should actually continue the story now… remember it's still Arwen's POV. Oh, and this is a bit AU. In the books Aragorn doesn't meet Gandalf until he goes into the Wild, but I thought this chapter would be a lot better if he met him before.

* * *

Aragorn settles comfortably in his chair, still wearing the grin he acquired from my tale. Clearing his throat, he begins his story.

"When I was fifteen, Gandalf came to visit Rivendell," he says. "It was rumored that he brought with him a huge keg of the best ale in Hobbiton. And I, being young and foolish, desperately wanted a drink of that ale."

"You still want a drink of every good ale you come across," I point out.

He blushes slightly. "Well, yes," he admits. "But I hadn't had ale before then. Elladan and Elrohir had, but your father never let me have any. He thought I was too young," he sighs. "Elladan asked Gandalf about the ale, and he answered in a riddle as he always did. The only thing he made clear was that he wouldn't give it away to young Elves or Men."

"And that, of course, only made it more appealing," I say, rolling my eyes. I remember the mischief my brothers used to get into. Being raised around them, I imagine Aragorn was much the same.

"I suppose it did. Your brothers and I decided to go on a quest to get the ale." He says it so solemnly that I can't help but laugh. I cover my mouth when I receive a glare.

"A quest to get the ale," I repeat.

"We figured the keg was in the room Gandalf was staying in. We planned our mission for days," he continues. "Elrohir would distract Elrond and Gandalf by faking an injury. While they were occupied, Elladan would break into Gandalf's room and find the ale, then give it to me. I would rush it back to my room, and then we were going to drink every last bit."

"A reasonable plan," I say, trying not to giggle.

"That's what we thought. But everything that could possibly go wrong did," he sighs sadly. "It started with Elrohir."

"I knew he would ruin your plans!" I exclaim, remembering all the times Elrohir's schemes had ended with us getting in trouble with Ada. "What did he do?"

"Instead of faking an injury, he got a real one. He went riding the day before we were going to steal the keg. His horse threw him and he sprained his ankle." Aragorn looks up thoughtfully. "Nasty sprain, too."

"Elladan told me about that when I returned from Lothlorien. He seemed angry about it."

"It nearly ruined all our plans! We had to begin the quest a day before we planned to. At least Elrond and Gandlaf were distracted," he admits. "But because of the injury, more things went awry."

He seems to reflect for a moment, and I wait patiently for him to continue.

"Elrond made Elladan help him tend to Elrohir's ankle. No matter how much they both protested, Elrond would not let Elladan escape. So the mission was left to me," he says grimly.

"You didn't give up?" I ask.

From the incredulous look I receive, I might as well have asked if Aragorn would relinquish his kingdom to the Easterlings. "Of course not! This is the best ale in Hobbiton we're talking about! The quest had to go on."

I nod and successfully hide a smile.

"I sneaked through the halls, making sure to avoid Elrohir's room. When I reached Gandalf's room, I reached another obstacle. The door was locked."

"So you leaned against the door and jiggled the handle back and forth four times," I guess.

Aragorn looks confused. "Why would I have done that?"

"All the doors in the House of Elrond have faulty locks," I explain. "All you have to do is lean on them and wiggle the handle four times. You didn't know that?"

He shakes his head.

"I thought my brothers would have told you that," I say. "They were the ones who figured it out."

"It would have saved me time," he grumbles.

"What did you do instead?"

He looks at me sheepishly. "I took a chair from the dining hall and used it as a battering ram. Gandalf's door was down in no time."

"You broke down his door with a chair?" I laugh.

"I didn't know about the lock trick!" Aragorn says defensively. He waits until I stop laughing to continue.

"It wasn't hard to find the keg. There it was, under his bed, with part of it sticking out. It was a little too easy, but I didn't care. I hauled out the keg and dragged it to my chambers."

"That sounds easy enough," I say.

"Yes. The keg was mine! Hours of ale were to follow for the twins and I, if we were to have our way. But it wasn't so."

"Did Gandalf catch you?"

"Eventually." Aragorn says. "There was something odd about this keg. I heard no liquid sloshing in it, and there was no way for the ale to come out. I needed to pierce a hole in it, and I had nothing sharp enough."

I notice Aragorn starting to look sheepish again. "What did you do?" I ask slowly.

"I stole the shards of Narsil."

All the laughter that has been building up during his tale bursts from my lips. "They were yours!" I say through my giggles.

"I didn't know that! I thought for sure I was going to be punished for touching such a valuable heirloom!" he cries. "I went into Elrohir's room and, when Elrond was out of earshot, I told Elladan that the mission was complete. When Elrohir found out, he told us to go ahead and drink the ale, but to save him a third of the keg."

"Elladan and I went into my room. I was to get the first drink, since I had completed the quest alone. We were so eager to drink that we didn't even get mugs from the kitchen. I knelt under the keg, and Elladan pierced a hole in the wood so I could drink. But it was not ale that flowed from the keg, it was horrible tasting white powder!"

"A barrel full of powder? What for?" I ask.

"Apparently it was the stuff Gandalf makes his fireworks with. We were so mad! We wanted that ale so badly!" Aragorn says, frowning. "I let out a scream, and started choking on the powder. Gandalf ran in. When he saw me, he started laughing so hard I thought he would collapse," he says. "Gandalf made me spit out the powder, and then he told us that there had been no ale."

"No ale?" I laugh.

"No ale! The quest was folly!" He stands up. "But no longer will I give in to my desire for ale."

"Are you sure?" I tease. "If Pippin ever comes to visit, I'm sure he'd bring you some of the best ale he can find!"

Aragorn smiles. "At least I didn't burn down the dining hall…"

"Now I see why you've never had an appreciation for fireworks…"

Still teasing each other, we retire for the night.

* * *

It's over! Not the best fic, I'll be the first to admit. But there will be better fics soon. I've been writing like crazy. I'm not sure what the next one will be, but please check it out! And maybe a review or two? Flames accepted, I'll just have to hide Faramir… 


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